Bananas from Peru
by mashymre
Summary: Some sort of Marida/Banagher thing. Takes place sometime around Episode 6. No sex, but mentions of Marida's history that might not be suitable for the younger crowd.


It was strange to think that, looking back, the first time Banagher had kissed her she'd punched him in the stomach.

Marida couldn't help it. His hastily blurted confession had surprised her in more ways than one, but not nearly as much as what came next. After his earnest outpouring of feelings, slowly, hesitantly, he'd leaned forward and when he found no resistance, pressed his lips against hers. His touch was gentle, but the sensation was horrifyingly familiar. The world seemed to twist around her and then she was back in those days, the times she didn't speak about, the years she'd spent in dimly lit rooms with locked doors and rough hands pressing her body into the ground and hot, fetid breath that reeked of alcohol blowing in her face and tongues forcing their way into her unwilling mouth as she begged for her old Master to help her. Her face twisted with rage and without thinking, she embedded her fist into the boy's gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him and send him sprawling backwards, clutching his stomach in surprise and pain.

A second later, the world shifted back into focus as she remembered who and where she was. She was Marida Cruz, soldier of Neo Zeon and pilot of the NZ-666 Kshatriya, currently on board the Nahel Argama. In front of her, floating a few inches off the floor due to the lack of gravity, was a young man with messy brown hair and a hurt look in his eyes. He wasn't one of her captors or "customers", but Banagher and only Banagher.

A ball of guilt knotted in her stomach at the look in his eyes. She reached out awkwardly to put a hand on his shoulder and murmured, "I'm sorry. You just surprised me. Bad memories came back."

Banagher must have understood, for the pain in his eyes vanished in a heartbeat. "No, I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. Please forgive me, Miss Marida."

"There's nothing to forgive. But Banagher… what would you want a woman like me for…?" she asked softly, ruffling his already messy hair.

He didn't answer. His gaze dropped to the floor and he mumbled another apology, backing away. Marida hesitated for a moment, then her arms were reaching out and pulling him towards her, and, not quite sure of what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Banagher's cheeks flushed, but he didn't resist, and after a moment she felt his arms tentatively twine around her back, pulling her closer. Gently, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, smiling faintly as his unruly hair tickled her lips.

"You're wasting your time, Banagher," she said quietly, but not unkindly.

He didn't answer. Not with words, at least. His arms simply tightened around her back, and somehow she knew that nothing she said would change his mind.

Over the next few days she found herself spending time with Banagher more often than not. Her initial goal had been to dissuade his interest, hoping that actually being around her would convince him that his affections had been misplaced. But, as time went on, she was forced to admit to herself that rather than trying to dissuade him, she was simply spending time with him because she enjoyed it. Banagher was young and brash, but he had a good heart. She liked that about him. She liked a lot about him, actually. She wasn't sure when it started or why, but bit by bit, she began returning his affections. At first it was just small gestures, like touching shoulders when they sat together or sharing the same straw for drinks. Then, without really noticing, they were holding hands and sleeping in the same bed as though it were perfectly natural. To anyone else, they undoubtedly looked like lovers, but Banagher had avoided getting too intimate since she'd punched him. A kiss on the cheek or forehead was about as steamy as things got between them. Even the nights they spent in the same bed were more about being near one another than doing the frick-frack, as Gilboa's kids would say.

It was on one such night that Marida awoke with a start, sweat-soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin. She'd had one of the usual nightmares again. There was no pattern to when or how they came. Sometimes she'd go weeks without having any, and sometimes she'd have one every other night. They were always about **that** time, when she'd been less than human, less than a pawn in a war, nothing but a body to be used over and over. No matter how far away from it she felt while she was awake, at night her dreams would bring her back to the places Master had rescued her from, the dark rooms with men waiting, watching her hungrily...

Marida swallowed hard, her breath coming sharply. She knew from experience that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She never could.

A faint groan from beside her sent her heart leaping to her throat and her hands scrabbling blindly in the dark for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. She would not allow herself to be violated again. Her hands slid along the wall until they pressed against something hard and plastic and lights snapped into existence with a faint click. Squinting her eyes against the sudden glare, Marida felt the thing beside her stir sleepily. Cold fear wrapped its icy coils around her heart, freezing her blood to ice in her veins. She swallowed again, listening to the sound of the thing's breathing. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. It was just part of one of her nightmares. In a few seconds, it would all go away.

Its hand flopped carelessly against her side as it stirred again. She stared at the appendage, barely breathing. It wasn't a dream. She was back, back in those times, and there was another customer beside her and soon he would wake up and take her all over again, and when he was done the ringleaders would have their turn and then she'd be locked in this room, left alone until she was to be used again, like an old dishrag instead of a human being. The last flickering coals of emotion in her heart ignited into fury, melting her frozen blood with its searing heat and spurring her into action.

She wouldn't allow it to happen. Never again. Without hesitation, she leapt on top of the thing beside her, pinning its arms beneath her legs and forcing her pillow against its face. It started awake and fought back weakly, no doubt still half asleep, but she held it down with grim determination, her strength augmented by the adrenaline hammering through her body. Its struggles, though quickly becoming more vigorous, were doomed from the start. She would never let it see the light of day again. Its shouts and cries for help were muffled by the pillow, but Marida found herself listening to them with an almost cruel satisfaction, wondering how it would beg for its life after trying to drag her back into the hell she had just barely escaped.

"MMMA! WHNNS WNNG! MRREEDAA!"

Her breath caught in her throat. Something was wrong. She knew that voice. Her arms trembled for a moment as she wracked her brain, trying to place where she had heard it before. How did it know her name? Who was it?

"MRRREEDA!"

Banagher. It was Banagher's voice. Of course. She was in Banagher's room on the Federation ship, miles and years away from her old room and the life she'd had. She'd been sleeping with Banagher, just like she had for the past few nights. How could she have forgotten? She flung the pillow to the side, her vision blurring with barely-restrained tears as she caught sight of Banagher's nearly purple face.

"Marida!" he gasped breathlessly. He paused to gulp down a few lungfuls of air before demanding, "What's wrong? What are you doing?"

It took Marida a moment to form the explanation into words, and when she did, it was painfully inadequate. "I had a nightmare. I thought you were… someone else."

"Are you alright?"

The question seemed so silly that Marida wanted to laugh. Instead she started crying, the tears that she'd been holding back bubbling over and streaming down her cheeks. Only Banagher would ask that at a time like this. Stubborn, kind, wonderful Banagher. Her Banagher. A tear slid from her face and dropped onto his cheek. A miniature rainstorm of its comrades soon followed it, peppering his face and pillow with wetness.

He pulled his hands out from under her weight and reached up, his hands cupping her face gently as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered soothingly. "There's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to be alright."

Marida shook her head. "Don't… don't say something like that now. I tried to kill you, Banagher. I can't let things continue like this. After what I've been through, I can't be with you. I can't be with anyone. Nothing can erase my past. I'm not someone you can spend your life with, Banagher! I am a soldier, and that's all I can ever be!"

"That's not true!" Banagher said hotly. "Even if you are a soldier, you're still human! You're still Marida! You'll always be Marida!" His voice softened as he continued, "I know we can't erase the past. But the past doesn't have to dictate who you are, either! You're not just a soldier. You never were. You are, and will always be, the Marida that Captain Zinnerman and I both love!"

Marida stiffened in surprise, something hot and unfamiliar blossoming in her chest. "Banagher…"

He went on as if he hadn't heard, his eyes growing wet with tears of his own. "I love you, Marida. I'll always love you. And I'll always be here if you need me. The past may be set in stone, but the future isn't. And if I can make you forget about the past just a little bit, if I can make your present and future just a little bit happier, then I'd gladly wake up to you holding a pillow over my face every night."

The bizarre sensation in her chest was growing stronger by the second, but she ignored it, shaking her head again. "That's **—** you can't just **—** Banagher, I can't! I'm not the person you think I am! I couldn't forgive myself if I ended up hurting you!"

"I'm not afraid," Banagher said simply. "You don't have to be afraid either, Marida." Gently, he pulled her face close to his, the tips of their noses just barely touching.

Her heart thumped loudly in the silence. "Banagher… I'll just wind up hurting you…"

"I don't care. I want to be with you, Marida," he said, kissing her.

The feeling in her chest erupted into full bloom, a shiver running through her entire body as it flushed with heat. Her resolve wavered, then crumbled completely as he pulled back, whispering her name in a way that made her blush harder than she'd ever blushed in her life. And then she was kissing him back, her hands slipping up to touch his face and her heart feeling like it would burst out of her chest and take flight any second. She could feel unwanted memories bubbling up again, but they were swept away under the tide of euphoria washing over her and she knew they didn't matter right now, because she was with Banagher and Banagher was kissing her and she was kissing him and they were together and nothing else in the whole world mattered.

Altogether too quickly, their lips broke apart, only to meet again for a repeat performance. When they pulled apart for the second time, Marida bumped her nose against his tenderly and whispered, "I love you, Banagher."

The smile that broke across his face made her heart try its best to perform a backflip. "I love you too," he said softly, pressing his lips to hers once again.

The door hissed mechanically as it slid open, interrupting their kiss to reveal the bulky form of Suberoa Zinnerman, hunched over with his ear pressed to where the door had been a second previously.

"Captain?"

"Master!"

His dark complexion flushing darker, he hastily stood up, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on his boots. "I heard shouting," he said by way of explanation. "Sounded like you two were trying to kill each other in here."

"Master **—"**

He held up his hand to stop her. "Don't call me that." Then, looking up from the floor for the first time, he growled, "Come here kid. We need to talk."

Banagher looked like a Ball about to be crushed by the Big Zam, but he complied, nudging Marida to let him up. She caught his eye as he got to his feet and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled faintly, giving her an affectionate squeeze of his own. Zinnerman cleared his throat and Banagher hurriedly let go, walking over to her Master with the doomed air of a prisoner going to the guillotine.

Zinnerman extended an arm as the boy came near and clapped it around his back. "Let's take a walk," he said gruffly, steering Banagher out of the room and into the corridor.

Marida laid back and listened as their footsteps faded away, a smile breaking across her face. She hoped Master wouldn't scare him too much. Master had a kind heart, but he was stubborn at times, and he could go a bit overboard when it came to her. She stared at the ceiling and counted off the minutes in her mind, waiting for their return. Ten passed. Twenty. Thirty. She began to wonder if they'd gotten lost.

As her count reached thirty-six minutes and forty-two seconds, the door hissed open again. Marida sat up to find Zinnerman and Banagher standing outside, Banagher looking over his shoulder at the big man. Whatever it was he was asking, Master seemed to approve; with a small nod, he clapped his hand onto Banagher's back hard enough to send him stumbling into the room. His business seemingly concluded, Master stepped back as the door shut with a soft _fwisssh _and the two of them were alone again.

Marida smiled and patted a spot on the bed beside her. Banagher accepted the invitation gladly, his hand closing around hers as he sat down.

"What did he say?"

"He asked me how I felt about you." Banagher said, eyeing the door as if he thought Zinnerman were still listening behind it.

"Oh?" Marida asked casually, trying not to betray the fact that her heart felt like it was using her stomach as a trampoline.

Banagher slid around to position himself in front of her, taking her free hand in his and looking into her eyes seriously. "I told him that I loved you more than anything or anyone in the world, and that I wanted to do everything I could to make you happy."

Marida blushed up to the tips of her ears, tightening her hands around his and looking down at her knees. She stared intently at the fabric of her infirmary clothes, attempting futilely to hide the redness in her face as she whispered, "I love you too, Banagher."

He smiled, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "Let's get some sleep, alright? We'll need our strength if we have to go into battle."

"Yes. You're right."

A few minutes later, as they lay facing each other in the dark, a thought occurred to her.

"Banagher? Did… Master say anything else?"

"Yeah. He told me that if I broke your heart he'd break my neck."

Marida smiled and closed her eyes. Banagher had been right. She wasn't just a soldier or a slave any more. There was more to her existence than fighting or servicing men. She had Master and Banagher, the man who was like family to her and the boy who she loved. There was nothing more important to her than them.

Weary from the night's events, she fell into a deep sleep, untroubled by nightmares. Her past couldn't be further away.


End file.
